lost in Canary Creek."

Gilbert Penny shot an obvious, humorous glance at Myrtle. She did not
meet it, but sat with lowered gaze. Caroline made a daring "nose" at
Howat; but he too failed to acknowledge her message. David's affair had
sunk from his thoughts. The drawing room was brilliantly lighted: there
was a constant stir of peacock silk, of yellow and apple green and coral
lutestring, of white shoulders, in the gold radiance of candles like
stiff rows of narcissi. Caroline drifted finally into the chamber back
of the dining room, and they could hear the tenuous vibrations of the
clavichord. Soon David had disappeared. The elder Penny discovered
Myrtle seated sullenly at her mother's side; and, taking her arm, he
escorted her in the direction of the suddenly silenced music.

Ludowika sat on a small couch away from the fireplace. She smiled at
Howat as he moved closer to her. She never did things with her hands, he
noticed, like the women of his family, embroidery or work on little
heaps of white. She sat motionless, her arms at rest. His mother seemed
far away. The pounding recommenced unsteadily at his wrists, the room
wavered in his vision. Ludowika permeated him like a deep draught of
intoxicating, yellow wine. He had a curious sensation of floating in
air, of tea roses. It was clear that, folded in happy contentment, she
still realized nothing.... She must know now, any minute. Howat saw that
his mother had gone.

He rose and stood before Ludowika, leaning slightly over her. She
raised her gaze to his; her interrogation deepened. Then her expression
changed, clouded, her lips parted; she half raised a hand. Her breast
rose and fell, sharply, once. Howat picked her up by the shoulders and
crushed her, silk and cool gauze and mouth, against him. Ludowika's
skirts billowed about, half hid, him; a long silence, a long kiss.

Her head fell back with a sigh, she drooped again upon the sofa. She
hadn't struggled, exclaimed; even now there was no revolt in her
countenance, only a deep trouble. "Howat," she said softly, "you
shouldn't have done that. It was brutal, selfish. You--you knew, after
all that I told you; the premonition--" she broke off, anger shone
brighter in her eyes. "How detestable men are!" She turned away from
him, her profile against the brocade of the sofa. Unexpectedly he was
almost cold, and self-contained; he saw the gilded angle of a frame on
the wall, heard the hickory disintegrating on the he